Should the case, I would like to go into a goose from the south, passing over the boundless expanse of blue water Qiongzhou Strait, south of the rain through the misty rain, through the mountain layers of evening mist, hovering in the Central Plains of the luxuriant woodlands, fall on your lofty isolated city on top of your wings Qingwu, painting Mengfei song. The memory of all the pain, all with the dark clouds go past the line, Yao Miao and disappeared.

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